Sweeter Moments
by actingwithportals
Summary: Based on a prompt given to me by ouroborosasunder.. A world where Chell doesn't have to face her freedom alone, and Doug escapes his long exile. The world may be strange and unfamiliar, but better faced with companionship. And on some days, the world is bright and and safe, and the only worries they face are the messes they'll have to clean that afternoon.


Early morning light poured in through the open windows. The warm smell of fresh dew on grass hung in the air, causing Doug to fight a yawn, the corners of his eyes prickling from the effort. It was early, far earlier than he was used to being awake. His sleep schedule had never resembled anything close to normal since coming out of that place, and long hours awake into the night meant sleep until the sun had risen high in the sky.

But today was different. Today Chell had requested an early rise, and Doug would never begin to question her wishes.

They stood together in their small kitchen, a room barely big enough for one person to work in, let alone two, but Chell was determined to make it work. On the small wooden table in the center of the room she had splayed out a number of bowls and wooden spoons and various ingredients that Doug himself was unfamiliar with. He knew the basic structure of cooking, enough to have gotten by through most of his adult life, and had learned a number of unconventional ways to prepare canned foods during his... exile. But baking was an art he had never dealt in, and up until this moment never expected to come across.

Chell, on the other hand, was a natural. Like everything else she did, she exceeded to unimaginable degrees. At this point, Doug couldn't be surprised by her unending abilities. In a few short months they had both discovered Chell was proficient in not only cooking and baking but gardening and chess and knitting and building fires and hunting and everything else they had attempted in their new lives free from Aperture.

Doug, on the other hand, found his talents didn't reach quite as far. Though he was still fully capable at performing in the more non-physical pastimes, he nowhere near reached Chell's level of superior success. That was fine with him. He was contented to watch as she plowed through every new task, lending a helping hand whenever she asked (and sometimes even when she didn't). At the end of the day, he was still the better painter.

But baking was a rare occurrence in their home, and one that Doug took very little part in. Due to certain... memories... Chell had little interest in exploring her baking potential. But every so often an occasion would come where Chell felt herself desiring a new and exciting challenge. Besides, she found that she did enjoy the sweeter things in life.

Those sweet things, however, never included cake.

Cookies, on the other hand, were welcomed with open arms.

"Butter."

Doug carefully slid the sticks of room temperature butter in Chell's direction.

"Sugar."

"How much?"

"Two cups."

With the precision of someone who had spent years carefully measuring distances and equating numbers into strings of code, Doug poured the desired amount into the large bowl where Chell had already placed the butter.

The familiar gleam glowed in Chell's eyes, a look Doug had learned to associate with her most focused, and therefore most dangerous state. He took a tentative step back and watched as she vigorously creamed the ingredients together.

"Eggs."

Wordlessly, Doug cracked two eggs into the mixture, returning to his safe distance away as soon as Chell resumed her mixing.

With each new ingredient called out Doug supplied the correct amount to their bowl, stepping in and out of Chell's range. He had a vague sense that baking was meant to be a soothing experience, but with Chell in the lead it felt more like performing open-heart surgery.

"Flour."

Doug complied, carefully scooping out the first cup of the flimsy white powder. He had never liked the stuff, part of the reason he generally avoided baking. Back when cleanliness had been one of his top priorities, dealing with a finicky substance like flour was unnecessary and avoidable. Not to mention his more sensitive senses never appreciated the tickling of the inside of his nose he always felt when dealing with the stuff.

Unfortunately, this time was no different, and one poorly timed sneeze was enough to blow the top dusting of his cup of flour straight into Chell's face.

Had this been two months earlier, Doug would have dropped everything and ran for the nearest closet to hide himself for his mistake. But after spending nearly every waking moment in Chell's presence he had gained a certain level of comfortability around her. At least enough to not worry about her wrath ever being aimed in his direction. For the most part, at least.

And the sight of her usually hardened, dark face now speckled with white, clinging to her long, unblinking lashes, brought a smile of amusement to Doug's face.

"Sorry about that," he apologized, though his expression betrayed any sympathy his words tried to convey.

Chell stared at him for a moment, her face a blank slate, as if trying to process the last few seconds. But slowly, the emptiness in her eyes melted away, replaced by the glint Doug understood to mean she was planning a retaliation.

If there was one thing he gained from his confinement in the facility, it was the quick responses he had adapted in order to keep himself alive. Now they served to give him a decent leap in the opposite direction of Chell's hand that now reached into the bag of flour, rearing back in a powdery fog and thrown in his direction.

Chell's aim, unfortunately, was better than Doug's agility.

A cloud of white swirled around him, clogging his nostrils and dusting his dark hair. After a moment of sneezing, Doug chanced a look in Chell's direction. She wore a proud grin, clearly satisfied that her aim met its target.

So, this was how it was going to be.

Doug liked to think he stood a chance. Speed and agility were on his side, but so were they on Chell's, and she had the advantage of strength and determination he never knew. It was a losing battle before it ever began.

Though he did manage a few handfuls and decently aimed throws. By the end of it Chell had her fair share of white splotches covering her skin and clothes. Doug, on the other hand, was beginning to resemble a very scrawny cloud.

"Given up?" Chell asked, cornering Doug between the table and the wall, the bag of flour in her hands, ready to throw at the slightest sight of movement.

"Tactfully considering my options," Doug corrected, eyes darting around for a way out. He supposed he could dive for the floor and crawl around the corner of the door, but Chell would be over him in a moment. There was also the possibility of a frontal attack, but this was likely to end with an equally poor result. His options weren't on his side.

Chell waited, giving him the courtesy of choosing his powdery ending.

"And I'm going to tactfully surrender, I'm afraid," he said, raising his hands in truce. If he waved them he'd imagine they would look very similarly to waving a white flag.

Chell grinned. "Checkmate."

She relaxed her arms, lowering the bag to a comfortable position and straightening up from the crouch she had assumed.

Without a moment's hesitation Doug took advantage of her moment of weakness. Speed graced him long enough to make a grab for the flour, effortlessly snatching it from between Chell's fingers and tossing its contents directly over her.

A puff of white erupted around her, coating the top of her head and arms and nose.

A moment of silence. Another sneeze from Doug.

"Checkmate," Doug echoed, the triumph in his voice unmistakable.

Chell couldn't believe what had just happened. Losing didn't come often for her, especially when it required the opposing party to take a risk against her. Yet here she stood, covered in more flour than Doug, who had already taken several globs of it to the face.

She was beaten, and Chell couldn't deny the impressiveness of Doug's final blow.

"And how are we supposed to finish those cookies?" she questioned, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"We could always try again another day," Doug suggested, trying to dust the flour off of his face.

Chell leaned forward and brushed some flour off of his cheek. "You missed a spot."

"You've missed quite a few," he pointed out, her face almost as pale as his own now.

Chell regarded his statement for a moment. Leaning closer, she softly brushed her white lips over his own.

"That's a little better," she noted, pulling back long enough just to say these words.

Doug believed flour tasted far better when baked with other ingredients, but he supposed this wasn't so bad.


End file.
